In all honesty, I wasn’t sure I was going to write this post. You see, when tough things happen, I tend to keep them private and I’m a real ‘brush yourself off and keep trucking’ kind of girl, not wanting to wallow as I know others are suffering more than I and that worse things can happen and do…
For many reasons, February has sucked balls, big time. A close family member has been very ill (thankfully now on the mend but could have died) and yesterday I slipped and fell, carrying my precious Alexander on a wet floor.
…Cleaning up the kitchen after a friend left, I hastily mopped around stains on the wooden floor near the bin and later returned to the kitchen, Alexander on my left hip and I slipped, flying, movie-like, legs in the air, the baby falling out of my arms, (we believe not that far from the floor) both landing on our backs. Normally calm in a crisis, I was HYSTERICAL.
Beside myself hysterical. I screamed for my husband, Peter, who works at home thankfully, who ran downstairs as I cradled a crying Alexander for what felt like a lifetime (my husband later told me it was actually 5 minutes) and after frantically calling my local GP, he advised we both head to A and E.
Worst fears of concussion or even brain damage, flooded my mind despite the baby’s cries. Peter was thankfully calm and controlled and kept my 3 year old Oliver as relaxed as possible, as he drove me sobbing to the hospital. I rushed in with the baby as he parked up with Oliver (who, bless him, told me not to worry Mama-he really is a mature little man) and Alexander was seen immediately.
I started feeling dizzy from the fall and shock so a nurse made me lie down as they checked a now smiling Alexander over. I didn’t care about myself, only whether my baby was OK but the nurse wanted me to rest.
I kept blaming myself over and over again, despite the nurse and my husband’s reassurance. A wonderful pediatrician assured me the baby was fine with no bumps to his head or abnormal signs and thought I must have hung on to him as long as possible as we both fell. I was checked over too and once the room stopped spinning, we were all discharged. What a frightful day.
At least Oliver had, had fun in A and E, pouring out water for us all from the water machine and informing the doctor that he would in fact like to be a farmer, not a doctor when he’s older. I’m not sure he realises how hard the recession has hit agriculture but I’ll leave that for another day.
As Peter and Oliver went to fetch the car, I sat in the entrance foyer, clinging onto a beaming Alexander, kissing his warm cheeks as sun streamed through the windows. A pretty, 40 something blind lady was brought to sit next to me on the bench by a nurse, her handsome blind dog next to her. I asked if there was anything I could do for her (stating I meant that in a non patronising way)- she laughed and said that was kind and not patronising and we got chatting about why we were both in hospital.
She touched Alexander’s face and told me he was beautiful. There for an X-Ray, she laughed that for once she wasn’t in A and E herself. I asked if she would like to hold Alexander but her dog piped up protectively as I tried to hand him to her (good dog) and although he wouldn’t ever harm the baby, she didn’t want him to be scared so felt it best she just stroked his face. Right there, my horrible day was put into perspective. This lady didn’t want my pity. She was happy, funny, wise and totally inspiring. She told me not to worry about what happened to us today. I thanked her and made my way to the car, relieved we were all OK and grateful to have met her.
Photograph © Peter Broadbent.
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